Immurement: The Undergrounders Series Book One (A Young Adult Science Fiction Dystopian Novel) (4 page)

I stifle a gasp.

Prat, Big Ed, and Mason are huddled together in the middle of the room, hands bound in front of them. Judging by the stricken look on Prat's face, someone’s pointing a weapon at them.
Owen?
No, that doesn’t make sense. My heart races. Could it be the Rogues?

Trembling, I pull my head back into the shadows. This has all gone horribly wrong. Apart from me, everyone’s either dead, missing or captured. And I’m supposed to figure this out. My breath burns hot as a geyser on my lips when I remember to breathe again. I press myself against the dirt wall of the tunnel and listen, but the only thing I can hear is my heart galloping in my chest. I reach into a side pocket on my pack and pull my flashlight back out.

A circle of cold steel presses into the back of my skull. The muscles in my neck tighten like a screw.

“Hands above your head.”

I drop my flashlight and slowly raise my arms as my rifle is jerked from my shoulder.

“What are you doing here?” a rough voice asks.

I know that voice.

I make a halfhearted attempt to turn around. “Reid? Is that you?”

The pressure on the back of my head eases up a notch.

“It’s Derry Connolly, from Prentice Carter’s camp.”

“They never said you was with them,” Reid says, gruffly.

“What’s going on?”

“Shut up and move.” Reid shoves me forward and jams the butt of the rifle into my back.

I wince, my brain whirring
.
Did Reid kill Frank? Where’s the rest of the camp?

When we reach the main bunker, Reid grabs me by the collar. “Don’t try anything stupid. Sit down and keep your mouth shut.”

Mason’s jaw doesn’t even flinch in acknowledgement when our eyes meet. Big of him not to mention I was with them, but I’ve blown it now anyway. I glance around the bunker and spot a greasy-haired woman I've never seen before leaning against the wall in the corner, pointing a rifle in my direction.

“Kid’s with them, Becca,” Reid says.

Becca shakes her lank hair out of her face and lowers her rifle. She takes a couple of unsteady steps forward, and then sinks into a white plastic chair. Reid gives me another shove and gestures to the chair next to her. I sit down and smother a gasp when I notice the ugly, festering wound above her ankle.

“Will someone please tell me what’s going on?” I glance from Prat to Reid.

Mason juts out his jaw. “Reid here has cooked up a crazy story about how he went off hunting and came back to find the camp upped and gone, and Frank dead in the bushes.”

I watch the hard cords in Mason’s neck pulsate as he talks. Every time he opens his mouth things heat up. I wish he hadn’t come. He leans forward conspiratorially. “Did you kill Frank, Reid?”

Reid lunges at Mason and swings the butt of his rifle around, but Mason’s ready for him. He grabs the gun and cracks Reid on the side of the head with it. Reid falls to the ground, wailing.

“Drop it or I’ll shoot!” Becca’s back on her feet, rifle aimed at Big Ed, her closest target.

Mason faces her, Reid’s gun clamped awkwardly in his bound hands, eyes flashing. I know that look. He won’t back down now. Prat's fish eyes latch onto me like a distress beacon. He’s so white he looks like he might throw up. I know he’s wishing it was Owen sitting here, but all he’s got is me. I can’t let him down.

I press my elbow lightly to my side and feel the outline of the spring-assisted blade in my jacket pocket. Sucking a cold breath between my teeth, I study the wound on Becca’s leg. My fingers slowly slide with a life of their own into my pocket.

As I lunge, I shove the barrel of Becca’s gun upward with my left hand, driving my knife into the seeping wound on her leg. She crumples, howling, and I seize her gun and face off against everyone in the room.

Mason gives me a barely perceptible nod of approval. He rolls Reid over with one foot. “Get up. On the chair.”

I cut the ties on Mason’s wrists and give him the knife to free the others. Big Ed walks over to a folding table at the back of the room and retrieves our weapons.

Becca hasn’t stopped screaming since I stabbed her. It makes my skin crawl to hear her but it’s better than listening to Big Ed’s dying gurgle, which is what I’d be hearing if she’d taken that shot.

“You okay, Derry?” Big Ed lays a hand on my shoulder.

I drop my gaze and shrug. “I didn’t want to have to do that. But, when I saw it was you she was aiming at
—”

His hand grips my shoulder like a vice. “You did good.”

Becca’s screams drop a few octaves to a low moaning. Her eyes are glassy when they flutter open.

“Who is she anyway?” I ask.

Reid scowls. “I met her out hunting,” he says, holding his hand to the side of his head.

I stare at him for a minute, but he doesn’t elaborate. He’s hiding something. No one brings strangers back to their bunker. Mason lets out a dismissive snort and hands my gun to me. “If Reid’s lips are moving, he’s lying.” He chambers a round and walks across the room to Reid. “Why’d you kill Frank?”

“I found him with a bullet in his chest,” Reid growls. “Looks to me like you boneheads might’ve killed him.”

“It was Rogues,” Big Ed says, quietly. He pulls a spent cartridge from his pocket and holds it out. “I found it near the body. It’s from an assault rifle.”

Prat wipes a shaking palm across his forehead. “It’s not safe here. We should go.”

“He’s right,” Reid says. “We need to get out of here.” He turns and reaches for the ladder.

I slowly raise my rifle and aim it at a spot above Reid’s head. “No one’s going anywhere, not until we find Owen.”

Prat stares at me, eyes like marshmallows. “What are you talking about?”

I lower the rifle. “Owen came up here after the meeting. He was worried we would be too late to help the camp by the time we arrived.”

Mason gives a grunt. “Seems he was right, seeing Reid here’s the only one left standing.”

Reid glowers at him.

“We’re not hanging around to look for Owen,” Prat says.

“The Rogues might have him,” I say.

Prat shrugs. “His problem. He broke the rules.”

“Forget your stupid rules!” I slam the rifle across his chest and shove him backward. “The rules have changed now that Frank’s dead. We need to get on that trail and find Owen before it’s too late.”

Mason grabs me by the arm and pulls me away from Prat.

I push in vain against his bulk. He might as well be welded to the floor. “Easy, Derry,” he says. “I’ll go with you to look for Owen.”

“That makes three of us,” Big Ed says.

“You’re all crazy!” Prat yells. “I won’t be a part of this, risking people’s lives chasing down
her
bullheaded brother.” He picks up his rucksack and rams his arms through the shoulder straps. “Just remember, Connolly. If anyone gets hurt, it’s on you. And don’t bother coming back if you don’t want to abide by bunker law anymore.”

I watch him disappear up the ladder and out through the hatch, a sinking feeling in my gut. I’ve set something in motion that will unravel the camp if I can’t contain it.

Bunker politics will have to wait. For now I need to focus on finding Owen. I glance over at Reid, watching us with a shadowy look. Becca stares at the floor, angry and sullen. Taking them with us would only complicate things. I don’t trust either one of them. On the other hand, we’ll have more fire power if we do run into Rogues.

Big Ed removes his hat and rubs the slick, bald spot at the top of his head. “It’s too dark to pick up the trail before morning.”

I look around at the others. “We can rest here for a few hours. I’ll take the first shift. We’ll sleep with our weapons, except for Reid and Becca.”

Mason frowns. “Be a rookie mistake not to tie those goons up. They’ll hightail it out of here first chance they get.”

I glare back at him. Like he knows anything. “Not if we post an armed watch.”

For a moment, Mason wrestles with some emotion, and then his face relaxes. “Okay, it’s your brother out there, we’ll do it your way. I’ll take the second shift.”

Relief leaks through my veins. Mason’s letting me call the shots, at least for now. Less chance of a fistfight between him and Reid if it stays that way. And I could use them both if the Rogues have Owen.

I drag a plastic chair over to the bottom of the ladder and sink down in it. Big Ed pulls a chair up beside me and adjusts the brim of his hat so he can see me. “You doing okay?”

I shrug. “Do you think we’ll find Owen?”

He adjusts the brim of his hat so he can see me. “Only takes courage to do most anything.”

I give him a lopsided smile. “I don’t know if I have what it takes. Maybe if I were more like Owen.”

He gives a dismissive grunt. “You’re afraid because you have no idea yet who you could become. It’s time to find your courage and act anyway.”

I look over at his leathered face. “What kind of man did you imagine becoming?”

A sad smile deepens the hollows of his cheeks. “A better one.” He pats my knee with his mangled hand and yawns. “Time for me to lie down.”

I watch him pad over to his pack and curl up on the floor beside it. Something happened with Big Ed a long time ago, something he regrets. But, mountain men and fugitives don’t often share their secrets. I check my gun, then slide further down in the hard plastic chair, my thoughts drifting to Jakob.

“Derry!” I jolt upright, disoriented. Big Ed looms over me, his rimmed glasses glinting in the light he’s shining in my face. “Those jugheads are gone.”

“What? Who?” I rub my eyes trying to remember where I am.

“You fell asleep. Reid and Becca took their guns and left.”

I sit up slowly and process the information.
A rookie mistake.
Mason was right.

“Where’s Mason?” I ask, raking my fingers briskly over my scalp to wake myself up.

Big Ed gestures at the hatch. “Out searching for them.”

Up top the murky darkness is melting into dawn, but the forest is still sheathed in frost. I rub my knuckles together and blow hot breath onto my fingers. A moment later, Mason breaks into the clearing, his rifle swinging from his shoulder. “They’re headed south.”

I clamp my fingers tightly around my gun. “Any sign of Owen?”

Mason rubs a hand over his jaw. “There’s only one trail. Either he’s on it too, or he’s—” He tightens his lips and looks off into the forest.

—or he’s dead, like Frank
.

Our mood is somber by the time we’ve buried Frank and covered up the gravesite. We march in silence in the half-shadows, brushing up against flaky-barked tree trunks as we thread our way through the dense woods. In the distance, a thin river of morning fog weaves its way past the moon over the snow-tipped Sawtooth Peaks that straddle the horizon. The sun will soon be up, and even though we’re safer here than in the open canyons, we’re taking a huge risk traveling at dawn.

We hike south for close to three hours before Mason hesitates at a fork in the trail. Big Ed silently takes the lead, and no one questions him. This is a world he knows best.

You can only see what’s in front of you, Derry, but you can hear in all directions.

I step over a granite knob and stiffen, one foot poised in midair.

A rattler shakes its hollow scales in warning. A cold sweat wraps around my neck. I take a deep breath and close my eyes to focus. The clicking is insistent, louder to my right.
Three o’clock. Ten feet.

I edge slowly left, melting with relief as the rattling fades. When I look up, I’m startled to see Mason staring down the barrel of his gun at the brush the snake retreated into. He straightens up and slides a furtive glance in my direction. “Just a precaution. Big Ed taught you well.”

I give him a double-edged smile, the kind that expresses gratitude, but hints at disapproval. The last thing I need is Mason acting like my security detail in Owen's absence.

Suddenly Big Ed whistles a wood thrush warning, flutelike and clear. We drop to the ground and ready our weapons.

“See anything?” I whisper to Mason.

He swishes with his hand for me to be silent and points off to the left.

I peer over a vast umbrella of ferns. Thirty feet away, on an exposed embankment, Becca is slumped with her back up against a splintered stump, her head drooping into her chest. There’s no way to tell from here if she’s sleeping or dead.

Big Ed makes his way back to us, his face puckered. “I don't like the look of this. No sign of Reid anywhere.”

Mason gestures up the hill. “I’ll check her out. She could be booby-trapped.”

I watch with trepidation as he approaches the tree stump and moves cautiously around, searching the ground for wires or traps. After a few minutes, he kneels down and studies something on Becca’s leg. He grabs a fistful of her hair, and pulls her head back just long enough to flash the yawning, ragged slit across her throat. I press a hand to my mouth.

“Bled out,” Mason confirms when we reach the tree stump.

My skin crawls. It would have been a death wish to go after Owen on my own. I’m rapidly developing an appreciation for Mason’s military expertise after all.

A twig snaps like a firecracker to our left. Big Ed swings his rifle and trains it on a clump of ferns twenty feet away. I hunker down behind a cluster of trees, heart thumping, as the unmistakable sound of someone crashing through the brush grows louder.

A streak of fur charges straight toward me. My gun goes slack in my hands. “Don’t shoot!” I yell to the others as Tucker pins me to the ground. He heaves hot breaths like a steam engine braking hard, and I bury myself in the salted butter scent of his sweaty fur. For a moment I’m heartened by his boisterous greeting, and then a foreboding feeling overtakes me.
What is he doing here?

Seconds later, Jakob bursts through the brush and comes to a halt in the middle of the clearing. He grips his shotgun with both hands, sweating and flushed, his eyes snapping left and right. He’s missing his trucker cap, and his white blond hair sticks up in random tufts, like he’s crawled through the undergrowth to get here. He staggers a few steps toward us. Big Ed reaches for him by the shoulders and props him up against a tree. I run to him and he clutches me to his chest with one hand, trying to catch a breath. The familiar scent of sawdust and worn leather fills my nostrils.